A Man Walks into a Bar
by The Humble Mosquito
Summary: No stupid jokes, I promise, but just maybe a fandom first... Julius Root comes across a certain Godric Gryffindor in The Leaky Cualdron. And who might the tall man behind the bar be? AFHP. Warning: Implied Slash. [Nommed for best Crossover at the OAs]


**A Man Walks into a Bar**

_for Blue Yeti, my big-net-sister_

I Godric

The Leaky Cauldron was a worn down shack of a pub. Cobwebs littered every crack and every corner like silvery decorations. Indeed, it was often suggested that the drinking water was collected from the bucket under the leak. Its few regular tenants only made an appearance for one of two reasons: the convenience or the friendly service. For Godric Gryffindor, it was the foremost.

He did like the bar tender, and often engaged Albus – or Alb, as he was affectionately known – in idle conversation. It wasn't exactly stimulating stuff, and while Alb' struck him as a learned young man, conversations about Sherbet Lemons, and such, weren't exactly what Godric had in mind for an evening out. So, it would have been foolish for Alb' to believe that had their been a pub a few feet nearer the gates of Hogsmeade, Godric would still be visiting The Leaky Cauldron.

Tonight, he was rambling on about his latest idea: 'Chocolate Frogs.'

"Personally, I think that they'll be the next big thing," he was saying, "and each pack will have a picture of a famous wizard."

Godric just nodded along. He wasn't really listening; didn't it occur to him that he might have more important concerns? One would have thought that the giant castle being erected in the background might have offered the barman some clue.

He was unsure whether Helga or Rowena were aware of his drinking habits. He doubted it. As for Salazar… well, he made it his business to be aware of everything he could about Godric; and Godric in turn made it his business to ensure that Salazar found out as little as possible about him as possible. So, again, there was no way of knowing.

But he always presented himself as nothing but an admirable professional at their daily planning meetings. And he had to. If any of them even detected the mere whiff of gin on his breath, then his arguments would be shot down as that of a drunk.

Salazar had been a particular pain this morning. He argued for four hours straight that students should have a line of at least six generations pure blood to gain entry to the school. While Godric believed that students should have wizarding heritage, Salazar was being plain unreasonable. Sadly, his ignorance was surpassed only by his forceful eloquence. Without the release of alcohol flowing through his veins, Godric doubted that he could get from day to day. What started out as an enlightened venture had become political and quarrelsome.

Four months until the start of term, and they had enough problems with slow building firms, without Salazar's constant bickering about admission policies. How Godric yearned to pick up his wand or his sword, and engage him in battle… But he wouldn't; Salazar had a right to his point of view – without his gold, Hogwarts would not have got this near to opening. But with just six months until opening

They had been friends, once. Close friends. It had been _their_ vision together – close friends Helga and Rowena had joined later. Now, all he did was fight with him: the others were secretly afraid of Salazar, and sure, they scorned his ideals, but Godric knew that they feared they burst of pure green that could shoot from his wand at any second.

Godric did not fear his friend; in fact, after a beer or two, he would have happily duelled with him. They probably would have done, had Alb not taken such good care of him, when he was completely out of it. He always had the strange suspicion that Alb was watching over him.

At this thought, Godric could not help but laugh aloud. The only thing stopping him from killing his best friend was a tall bartender with a silky beard. And they say that the Gryffindor line was a courageous one.

Alb stopped talking. Evidently, His fake laugh had chronologically inconsistent with one of Alb's annoyingly witty quips. Realising that Godric wasn't listening, Alb studied him for a moment with those twinkling eyes of his for a moment, then patted him on the back, brushing against his soft, shoulder length hair.

"Have a goodnight, Mr Gryffindor," he said, and wondered off to pester another customer.

"Goodnight," Godric murmured at his back.

The door swung open, and a ridiculously short man with odd ears and a strange kind of military uniform walked in.

Alb greeted him brightly, and he simply nodded back, as if to say, 'leave me alone, strange man.'

He headed towards the stall next to Godric's, which was now the furthest available position from Alb's current position.

Despite his size, the man looked an impressive wizard – confident and official. He didn't look as if he had had the best of day, but he walked with a kind of manly strut rhythmic and quick, like Salazar, only less like a stomp, and more forgiving. A pessimist, but a strong one: Godric's kind of wizard.

"Rough day?" Godric heard himself murmur.

II Julius

Root stared at the man for a second. If there was one thing he hated about the Wizard sect, it was that they were goddamn friendly. Couldn't he go for a quick drink aboveground without some eccentric sorcerer prying into his business?

"Had better," he grunted in a closed-door-kind-of-way.

Julius had never quite his put his finger on _why _he frequented Hogsmeade's establishments. Perhaps it was the uncivilised, joyously over concentrated levels of alcohol in the beverages. Or perhaps it was that the LEP uniform was far less noticeable there – but then, his lack of height probably made up for that.

Perhaps it was simply the freshness of the air. But that solution did invite the question of why he chose to spend his time in a room polluted with the less than welcoming scent of tobacco.

The odd, young bartender (who appeared to be deliberately added streaks of grey to his hair) delivered his usual drink. He was so bloody cheerful – how Julius would love to introduce him to his new buzz baton. The buzz baton, he often said, were the only useful thing that horse had ever invented. He almost smiled at the thought of tormenting Foaly. Almost.

His attention returned to the question of why he was there. Between sips, he considered for the briefest of moments that he might actually enjoy the company of witches and wizards. He took another gulp of intoxicating beer, and his rationality was restored.

All the fairies thought the Wizards a pitiful race, not worthy of their attention. The pathetic waving of 'wands', the casting of corny 'spells', the repugnant curses and melodramatic conflicts … they were almost as primitive as the magicless mud men. Some of the liberals, like Cupid, argued that at one point they had been part of the same species as the elves, and that they had just evolved differently. Some of the purists, like the ancient Sool family, believed that they were merely ordinary Mud men in contact with some kind of spirits. Some, like Julius (and ninety –nine percent of the fairies), accepted that there was no way for them to know or any reason for them to care. After all, it was a _very _small sect.

_I just like the beer,_ Julius decided..

"What was that?" his neighbour asked, looking up from the defaced altar.

Julius turned to the wizard; he didn't recognise him – which, in itself, was strange. His visits were irregular and dictated by his missions, though, so it was perfectly possible that he could have missed him.

His hair was long and brown and wavy, perfectly parted and bushy above his shoulders. He wore a black cloak hat stretched down to his knees. The look suited his tanned complexions perfectly.

If it weren't for the neutrino locked in his belt, Julius could imagine finding the man intimidating. He was certainly attractive.

"Oh, nothing."

"Didn't really sound like nothing," he said plainly.

Mind your own business, Julius almost said.

"Just mumbling – about my day."

The alcohol was having an odd effect on him tonight. Usually it made him _less_ likely to speak. There was some interesting about that man. Of course, he wouldn't go as far as to tell him the _truth_, but lies were better than nothing at all, right?

The tall man sighed. "Mine wasn't great, either."

"Oh?" Julius pried almost by accident.

What was he doing? He didn't care about what went wrong with some pansy magician's day.

The man brushed his hair out of his face, and smiled. Julius liked his smile, too, although it didn't suit him as well as his scowl. He had a kind of rugged air, and the whiteness of the smile was a little off-putting.

"Just a bit of bother with one of my associates. We're working on the castle," he said enthusiastically. "Did you see it on your way in?"

Julius hadn't seen anything on the way in, and his expression must have shown it, because the man said, "The big black thing, with lots of towers stretching into the night?

He still didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but Root feigned recognition, "Oh, yes the castle. Yes – err – an impressive feat I must say."

"Do you know what we're using it for," the man pressed on, relieved.

"I can't… – no, I can't say that I do."

"We're starting a school," he replied proudly. "Do you have any children?"

"No," Julius snapped back quickly, taking personal offence at the not-particularly-personal-or-offensive-question. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean… What did you say your name was, again?"

"Godric," he answered, "Godric Gryffindor."

Julius liked his name; strong and full of coverage, like his frame. He was almost ashamed to share his.

"Julius Root," he mumbled.

And then they talked – their tongues growing looser with swig.

They discussed their careers and their dreams. Of course, Julius had to lie through his teeth at some points, but he had a definite connection with Godric… an understanding.

From the occasional trickle of sweat, and the manly swishing of the hair, Julius could tell he was infatuated with him.

"Why don't you have a family?" asked Godric in a slightly slurred voice.

Julius thought for a moment. He thought it was odd the way alcohol works; just three pints on from an enquiry, and he didn't find it _nearly_ as irritating.

"Because I'm a miserable git," Julius laughed.

Godric laughed too. It was a sensible laugh, deep and croaky. At least, it would have been sensible had he not howled on for three or for drunken minutes.

"It wasn't _that_ funny," Julius said, grinning at his new friend. He couldn't remember the last time he'd grinned like this, but then he remembered Foaly, and his buzz-baton. No, he did have his fun. "Nah, seriously, I just like to concentrate on my professional life."

Godric patted him on the back affectionately. "Ah, right, right."

Julius didn't like the touch it was strong, and patronising. "What about you then. Do you have a wife?"

Godric laughed again, but it was humourless, this time – more controlled. "Me? No. Well, Rowena and Helga feel like it sometimes, but no; I've never seen the point, myself."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Just some friends."

"Oh," said Julius, sensing that it my best not to ask anymore about the 'friends.'

They sat a while longer, and then Godric said, "What you doing after you've finished, here?"

"Going home."

"Do you wan' to come back to my house for some coffee?"

Sober, Julius would have found the line unforgivably unoriginal, but, presently, it seemed like a deviously subtle invitation.

His visa was due to expire in an hour, and Briar was waiting up in their apartment so that they could go through some crime stats.

_Statistics can wait, d'arvit!_

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"Let's have another drink first, yeah? Alb!"

III Albus

"Same again, Lads?"

Dumbledore watched them close throughout the night. He was frankly worried about Godric. He was a great man, but the alcohol – in combination with Slytherin – was destroying him.

He delivered their drinks and swept away.

Fairies and Wizards didn't tend to mix well. And when they did, it was only temporary.

It was odd that a man of Godric Gryffindor intellect couldn't identify an anomaly such as Julius Root. And it was worse still that a man of Root's stature would be foolish enough to knowingly engage in an inter-species relationship with someone such as Godric.

Dumbledore liked the fairies. He like their civilised manner and their structured lifestyles, but they were so naïve… so pure, and child like.

He watched with disgust as Godric's hand slipped onto Julius' thigh. He would have interfered, if it weren't for the poignancy of the scaffolding outside by the lake and the forest. That school had to open; it simply _had_ to. Even if those incompetent clowns made a mess of it, it had to at least open. He'd make sure of that. And if that meant humouring Godric's foolish personal endeavours, then so be it.

Dumbledore needed to be invisible for a few more years, anyway, and it is far easier to remain invisible if you didn't interfere.

The children got up and left together. He gazed once more at the towers of Hogwarts. It would be nice to teach there someday.

He sighed as he collected the glasses, and returned his thoughts to chocolate frogs.

End

* * *

I finally posted it. Not sure why... I guess it just feels like the right time.This was written a few months back basically for the challenge of making such a random pairing work. (It was Blue Yeti's choice). 

Sorry about the title; for that, you can blame Black Knight. Go! Flame his stories!

I'm sure that you're all a little bemused, but reviews – positive and negative – are always welcome.


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